


devil gave me a crooked start

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Recall Genji/Blackwatch McCree, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Blackwatch Agent McCree wakes up in a place and time he shouldn't be in.  An older Genji doesn't help, but they have some fun anyway.





	devil gave me a crooked start

**Author's Note:**

> Don't think too hard on this. Just good ol' meaningless time travel for the sake of Recall Genji getting his filthy hands on those sweet black leather zippy chaps. Thanks for that, blizz.
> 
> Title from [Raise Hell by Brandi Carlile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDXvzhnG3V4). (And thank you Terry for suggesting it.)
> 
> * * *

It’s the middle of the night and McCree wakes up with the breath knocked out of him.  He feels something tighten across his chest, heavy and warm, and he lets out a pained groan.  The weight shifts, unsettlingly alive against him, and McCree tries to roll to his side, a small moment of panic overtaking him when he cannot move.

His legs tangle with something, boots catching onto cloth, and he belatedly realizes the bed sheets wrapped around him.  He opens his eyes, finding himself in a dark room, but it’s not so dark that he can’t see the unfamiliar outline of walls and furniture around him.  It’s not his own room or any kind of medbay, he knows, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion.  He distinctly remembers sinking down into an old sofa—exhausted as hell, _sure_ , but still coherent enough to to know that his last memory had been in one of Blackwatch’s safehouses, trying to doze off before his next mission.  

Someone mumbles into his ear, warm breath tickling over his cheek.  He turns his head.  

And stares.

There is a person laying next to him, pressed to his side in a way that McCree would have called _snuggling_ , if it hadn’t been for the fact that it’s him on the receiving end—dark hair, a haze of green lights flickering beneath the sheets—and that’s as far as McCree gets before he bolts upright.  

He’s met with a bleary gaze directed his way, the strange weight of the person’s arm sliding from his chest.  It settles is a loose hold around his waist, still clinging, and McCree isn’t sure if that’s any better.

McCree puts a hand to his temple, rubbing it viciously, but he doesn't have the telltale headache of a hangover or the foggy mind of being drugged.  He starts to doubt if he had really fallen asleep alone on a old couch in a Blackwatch safehouse.  

First though—he does the only thing he can think of and immediately removes the arm, grabbing it by the wrist—no skin, but some kind of soft material, with metal for joints—and gingerly puts it aside.  The intruding hand doesn’t protest and the stranger tucks it back against their own chest, unoffended, which somehow disturbs McCree even further.

He scoots away, a million questions running through his head.  The last thing he remembers _is_ the Blackwatch safehouse, locked and secured, he’s _damn_ sure _,_ but he tries to muster up some kind of polite response to the stranger.  It’s not like he hasn’t done this thing before, tumbling into bed with someone on a whim, but up until now he’s had the decency to remember the encounter of the night before.  And despite the incredible temptation, McCree isn’t crass enough to jump out of bed and start making a run for it to avoid explaining that he cannot, for the life of him, recall how he ended up in bed with—

“Jesse?”

McCree nearly falls off the bed, having scooted to the very edge, but a hand catches him by the elbow and pulls him back up.  He hears his hat fall off his head behind him but he _knows_ that voice, the sweep of black hair, and the narrowed shape of the eyes, even if _those_ eyes are no longer bright red.

It’s hard to tell in the dark, but McCree suddenly registers the prosthetic hand gripping onto his left arm, the armored chestplate that had pressed against him moments before.  It _can’t_ be.

“Genji?” he croaks, and if his voice cracks in between the syllables then he’s inclined to forgive himself for being under duress.

Genji, looking less sleepy and more alarmed by the second, sits up as well.  His grip tightens over McCree’s elbow, fingers dragging up his forearm and pausing for a moment before squeezing again.  And again. And again, with enough pressure that it starts to turn painful.

“Ow, _hey_ ,” McCree says, drawing his arm back.

“Athena; _lights,_ ” Genji commands the AI system, and the room brightens.

Several things become clear at once; McCree is _definitely_ not in any Blackwatch safehouse anymore, but he is, despite all other implications, still fully dressed in his Blackwatch uniform, the exact same clothes he had fallen asleep in.  And Genji is still holding on to his left arm, blinking at it in confusion.

McCree is no less baffled, but he almost thinks he has mistaken Genji for another stranger again.  The cyborg looks different, new armor a sleeker design of silver and white instead of mismatched black and red.  McCree realizes the green hazy lights he had seen earlier are the circular accents down Genji’s abdomen and shoulders, but everything that’s shockingly new to him takes a step back in his mind when he stares at Genji’s face.   _That_ , he has never seen before.  Not fully.  Not without some kind of mask in the way.  The facial scarring, the uneven shape of his lips, and how his metal jaw bends into his skin—it’s _different_ , more startling than the armor somehow.

“You…” Genji begins, brow furrowing.  He looks at him up and down, eyes darting from McCree’s arm to his face. He finally lets go of McCree’s arm.  “... You’re younger?”

And McCree doesn’t have any idea what that means.  He shakes his head.  “What?  No?  Listen, aren’t you supposed to be back in America?  What are you doing in...” He pauses, not wanting to give his exact location, what he _thinks_ is his exact location, and finally settles for a vague, “Europe?”

Genji gives him another odd look.  “What do you think the date is?”

McCree doesn’t like how the question is phrased at all, but Genji’s frown seems to be clearing into an expression of weary exasperation, though McCree suspects it’s not aimed at him. He hopes it’s not.

“The fourth of June,” he replies.

“The year?” Genji presses, and the question itself leaves McCree a little fearful of the truth.

“I swear to god, if it’s isn’t the year 2056, I may need to excuse myself and have a smoke.  A very long smoke,” McCree says, and blinks when Genji lets out a sigh.

“Ah. This nonsense again,” Genji mutters.

“ _Again?_ ” McCree asks, already patting his pockets for a cigarette. He's going to need it now.

“It’s the year 2063,” Genji says, leaning over McCree to reach for a small tin box at the bedside table.

McCree stills, letting Genji’s weight press against him as his jaw falls open, which is perfect.  It lets Genji fish out a cigarillo from the tin and stick it between his lips.  He shuts his mouth, obliging but numb.

“We’re in Numbani, west base,” Genji adds, flicking a lighter beneath the cigarillo.  The flame catches as McCree sucks in his breath, finally remembering to breathe, and Genji snaps the lighter close.  He settles back, looking miffed as he continues to explain; “Earlier, Ana shot you with a nanoboost and you accidentally ran into Lena while she was Blinking backwards. You disappeared for a moment but appeared back, unchanged. We thought that had been all there was.  Apparently not.”    

McCree looks at him, taking the cigarillo from his mouth.  “Genji. I only understood about two words out of five.  How the hell you don’t sound worried is beyond me.”

Genji shrugs.  “It happens.”

McCree waits for Genji to say more, but apparently it’s all the cyborg has to offer.  He takes a longer drag, collecting his thoughts. “So I’m stuck.  In the future.”

“I wouldn’t say stuck,” Genji says, sounding amused.  He pats McCree’s chestplate.  “But think of it as a quick break from whatever you had been doing.”

“Sleeping peacefully,” McCree says, a little surly.

The corner of Genji’s mouth twitches upwards, setting the crinkle in his eyes.  Genji _does_ look older, McCree thinks, despite having never seen him without his mask.  It’s in the eyes, all gray and clear now but still bright in their own way.  

“Then perhaps this will all be a very strange dream for you,” Genji replies, shifting a bit.  Not closer to McCree, but simply changing the angle of his gaze, an unchecked smile forming as he peers around McCree’s shoulder, possibly looking at his hair for whatever reason.

McCree’s cigarillo isn’t lasting as long as it should, his puffs becoming shorter and shorter. He clenches at the sheets, feeling strangely vulnerable.

He wants to address the elephant in the room.  The fact they are sitting in the same bed already makes McCree uneasy and awkward, but Genji seems unaware of their closeness.  Or seems completely used to it, which is a wild thought.  The sudden jump of intimacy leaves him reeling, but McCree isn’t stupid or too unwilling to face the truth.  

They’re together in the future, plain and simple as that.  

And they aren’t just fucking around, McCree sees with growing trepidation. He can tell just by looking around the room; there’s a red serape hanging at the end of the bed— _his_ , for sure—and Genji’s swords in the corner.  An assortment of armor neatly placed in the opposite end of the room, all of them either one of two different sizes.  An ashtray with cigars and old stubs on the table. A scroll with kanji written on it next to the ashtray. The room is made up of a small collection of what looks like _both_ their things, intermingled like they’ve been there for quite a while now.

McCree blows out smoke in slow exhale and crushes the remaining stub into the ashtray.  And who knows how long of a relationship they end up getting into—probably a halfway decent one though, judging from the way Genji is looking at him.  McCree can’t even fathom the details of how or why, but he assumes _something_ had to be good about it, for them to get so tangled with each other despite the danger of it.

“Are you alright?” Genji asks.  His smile twists, gaze falling to the bed as he gestures at the space between them.  He looks back up, like he can’t take his eyes off McCree for long.  “This must come as a shock to you.”

McCree glances at Genji, unable to help the small jump in his nerves when he says, “ _Well_.”

That’s the goddamn funny part of it.  It’s still a surprise, this weird future involved with Genji, but not outside the realm of possibility.  McCree wouldn’t rule out harboring some kind of shallow attraction, but that could be said with any good-looking fellow that he happens to come across—not that he’s so easily smitten, but he isn’t afraid to admit having a passing thought about it.  Genji’s got a catalogue of attractive qualities, sure, with a whole lot of cautionary warnings to go along with them; nice eyes (despite the violent red gleam), a graceful fighter (despite the recklessness), a sharp wit (despite the quick temper), and a person with a particular sense of honor (despite his past).  

So no, it hadn’t been outside the realm of possibility, but McCree wasn’t up to opening a can of worms when it came down to fooling around with Genji, half-murdered Ex-Shimada and all that.  

But the few times Genji would show something other than aloofness, McCree finds himself thinking twice, nettled somehow.  The older Genji echos the same clever remarks and quick sarcasm, and McCree finds that he likes Genji's brand of wry humor, when it isn't so bitter or fatalistic, or aimed to hurt.

Genji shifts again in the bed.  After a moment he speaks up, as if reading McCree’s mind.  “I apologize for being so difficult back in Blackwatch.”

The apology makes McCree pause for half a second.

“I wouldn’t say _difficult_.  Far from it,” he says, surprised by Genji’s bluntness, but he has known Genji to be blunt before, just not very contrite. He remembers his last mission with him, a whirlwind of sharp blades and a relentless drive to get the job done.  The Genji of his time had been an excellent agent, not really a team player overall, but his skill on the field more than made up for it.  

Genji had been a good Blackwatch asset, but didn’t seem to care for being anything else.  Most likely had a lot to deal with, all things considering.

McCree turns this over, but he is struck by a sudden thought. “Wait.  What do you mean, _‘back in Blackwatch’_?”

Genji purses his lips.  The way his idle expression flickers tells McCree that the cyborg is distracted. He tilts his head again, like something about McCree is constantly catching his attention.

“Things have changed,” Genji replies, blinking.

“Oh,” says McCree, unexpectedly realizing the source of Genji’s amusement.  It’s _him_. And not just the fact that he’s appeared out of nowhere.  He sits up a little straighter.  “Oh. Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

Genji continues to stare at him, peering at his face and then down his body.  And McCree would have never thought Genji to be charmed by anyone, least of all him, but somehow he has endeared himself.  McCree feels himself grow hot under the scrutiny, but he stares back, just as interested.

“I never had the chance to say it back then, but you were very handsome,” Genji says, brightening when he sees that McCree is catching on.

McCree almost sputters, but he settles for sounding incredulous. “ _Were?_ ”

Genji laughs, head tipping back, and the sound of it has very little of his usual sarcastic bite. McCree wonders if the laugh is anything new, or something that had been there all along.

“Shall I talk about the older you?” Genji asks with a grin, unabashed and downright wicked.

The teasing expression is enough to pull an involuntary smile from McCree.  A part of him tries to reconcile the playfulness, the other side of Genji’s usual mocking humor.  It’s different, and yet somehow similar.  

But he's always known Genji to be one devious bastard either way.

“Can’t say I’m not curious,” McCree admits, eyes following the movement of Genji lifting his arm to rest over his shoulder, cold metal palm sliding behind him.  He _is_ curious, but not just about his future self.  He tilts his head to the side, encouraging the way Genji’s hand draws him in by the back of his neck. “Go on.  Tell me.”

Genji peers at him again, thinking, and the hand on McCree’s neck trails upward.

“In the future, you grow out your hair,” he says, fingers threading through the strands and pulling gently to marvel at the length.  He inches closer, like he can’t get a proper touch without leaning into McCree’s lap. His movements are smooth, and McCree barely notices the weight sliding over his thighs until Genji presses in to nuzzle his cheek against McCree’s.  “You have a beard you don’t trim.”

McCree’s legs adjust to accommodate Genji sitting in between them, a whole teasing cyborg in his lap. _Ruthless terror_ , he thinks with a pounding heart, a little alarmed but a lot more intrigued.  He gets his hands on Genji’s waist, about to pull him flush, but Genji eases back, proving his point.  

“Your clothes… haven’t much improved,” Genji continues, eyeing him down.  His hands drag over McCree’s chest armor, stopping just beneath McCree’s throat.  He waits, and McCree lifts his chin by a fraction, allowing Genji to unclasp the cloak and armor from his shoulders.  Genji grins, palms now resting over McCree’s thighs, fingers playing along the seams of his chaps.  “I rather like the black leather.  I wish you still wore it.”   

McCree huffs, wondering what the hell had made him stop if Genji had been so taken in with it. He tugs him forward by the waist, surprised by how much he likes the easy way Genji sways into him.  “I’ll keep that in mind—” He pauses, notices the way Genji is staring at him again, so incredibly fond, and he clears his throat.  “Tell me more about the future me.”

“You aren’t afraid to touch me,” Genji replies, laughing as McCree immediately runs his hands down his sides, feeling along the lines of his armor and softer material of his muscles. He glances at McCree’s mouth then back up, delighting in the response. “Or kiss me.”

McCree doesn’t need telling twice.  He leans close, mouth pressing against Genji’s, hot and eager.  Genji is _still_ laughing, muffled humming over McCree’s lips, but he deepens the kiss, slowing the pace while McCree becomes breathless and dizzy in more ways than one.

Genji’s hands go to his chest, pushing him so that McCree slumps further into the mattress, head bumping against the backboard.  A ragged noise escapes from McCree, but Genji doesn’t relent, kissing him until he is thoroughly on his back.  

“I think you like when I get on top of you,” Genji says, easing up.  He settles himself over McCree’s hips, thighs bracketing either side of him.

“I’m likin’ it right now,” McCree manages, the heat rising to his face when Genji grabs his wrists together to hold them above his head.

Genji makes a thoughtful noise, glancing at their hands.

“What?” says McCree, watching as Genji turns over his left forearm, thumb sliding up to trace over the old Deadlock tattoo.

“I never got the chance to look at this closely,” Genji explains, studying the tattoo, much to McCree’s embarrassment.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” says Genji, blinking once. “Don't worry about it.”

Before McCree can press the issue, Genji bends down, forehead to forehead, and kisses McCree again, distracting him completely.  

It’s lazy and slow in a lavishing sort of way, and McCree hadn’t known Genji was capable of this kind of gentle attention.  He knows he can keep up, meet Genji move for move when it comes to touching and kissing, but he’s taken aback by Genji’s warm smile and sparkling eyes, his special way of knowing how McCree wants to be taken apart. The knowledge makes McCree blush more than the leisurely back and forth of Genji’s weight in his lap.

There’s no other word for it.  He’s dazzled. Just a little bit.  And a part of him wants to give back the same kind of curious attention, wants to know more about this future Genji.

“You…” he begins, pulling him close. He reaches out to touch Genji’s face, confident, and it’s the right thing to do—Genji leans into his hand, angling his head to bite at glove.  

“Yes?” he asks through his teeth as he pulls it off McCree’s hand.

McCree flushes, but even with all this teasing he’s got a hunch that Genji is trying to make up for lost time.  He puts his bare palm against Genji’s cheek, against the scars he’s never gotten the chance to see before.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he says, and he thinks he may have the right impression when he isn’t surprised as Genji flashes him a grin.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Genji promises, and pushes him back down.

 

* * *

  


The next time Genji wakes up, he makes sure it’s the right Jesse in his bed before he throws an arm around his waist.  It’s easier this time around, the morning sunlight leaking through the curtains, and he _knows_ it’s his Jesse—the right age and half naked in bed, just how they left off last night. Longer hair, full untrimmed beard, one arm less, and no black leather. Sadly.

Jesse ends up blinking awake to the sound of his muffled laughter.  He sits up, eyes narrowing at Genji.

“What?” Jesse asks, putting a hand to his head.  He blinks, wincing as if he has a stiff back.  “Ugh, I had the strangest dream.  Woke up in some basement on a couch.”

Genji buries his face into Jesse’s shoulder.  He can only wonder.

Jesse glances at him, brow furrowing.  He looks around the room, pausing when he spots something on the floor. He shrugs Genji’s head off his shoulder and rolls to the side to fetch a black hat from the ground.  He holds it up.

And makes a slow turn towards Genji.

“Oh no,” he says flatly.  “What happened?”

Genji glances at the hat.  It’s not the leather chaps, which is a shame.  Of all the things the younger McCree could have left behind.  

“Your past you woke up next to me not knowing where he was,” Genji says, taking the hat and looking at it.  “I explained to him about the nanoboost serum and chrono accelerator.  It did not last very long.”

“Oh.  That all?” says Jesse, relaxing as Genji slides over him, legs tangling over each other. “So the usual time traveling nonsense again.”

“Yes,” Genji says, grinning, and adds, “I missed you.”

Jesse snorts, not fooled in the least.  “Well, I hope I wasn't too much trouble.”

Genji laughs, putting the black hat on Jesse, and sits up to lean across his lap.

“Not at all,” he says, watching the smirk form on Jesse’s face, “Shall I tell you all about it?”


End file.
